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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24109270">beach episode</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athina_Blaine/pseuds/Athina_Blaine'>Athina_Blaine</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Strawberry Kiss FunTime Delights, the problem with peanut butter and jelly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 00:54:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,561</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24109270</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athina_Blaine/pseuds/Athina_Blaine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin and Jon go to the beach</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>146</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>beach episode</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Martin dumped his bags on the motel bed and threw his hands in the air.</p><p>“We made it!”</p><p>Jon followed suit, tossing his bags down with less, but not entirely absent, gusto. Martin zipped open one of the front pockets and grabbed a bottle of sunscreen, squeezing a dollop onto his palm.</p><p>“Let’s put on a second layer before we go out.”</p><p>“Don’t you think that’s a little excessive?”</p><p>“You think I put up with all the crap at the Institute just to have you die of skin cancer now?”</p><p>Jon sighed, but allowed Martin to smear the oily sunscreen onto his face, screwing his eyes shut. It smelled just as terrible as the last time.</p><p>“I’m not even going in the water.”</p><p>“What?” Martin whined, plaintive. He made a gesture with his hand. “Arms up.”</p><p>Biting back the urge to complain, because, really, Martin was just trying to be practical, Jon held up his arms at his sides, and Martin kept working.</p><p> “I thought you were just kidding,” Martin continued. “Who goes to the beach and doesn’t even swim?”</p><p>“There’s plenty of things to do besides swim.” Jon reached into his bag and pulled out <em>Black Waters of Melancholy: Dark Poetry. </em>“Reading a book, for instance.”</p><p>“Oh, good choice.” He dropped a kiss on Jon’s mouth. “You’re still a nerd.”</p><p>“I am not.”</p><p>“I'm dating a bookworm goth of a nerd."</p><p>“You knew exactly what you were getting into.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Finishing up with Jon, Martin took the bottle and walked in the bathroom, starting on his own face. “Grab some more ice for the cooler and then we can head out.”</p><p> </p><p>With each of them holding one end of the cooler, they scaled the sandy slopes for a long ten minutes before reaching the shoreline. The sun was blisteringly hot, and the blue sky stretched on for miles, a far cry from London’s grey gloominess. The day was lovely.</p><p>The beach, itself, was deserted, just like Jon Knew it would be. Bad memories involving a lonely stretch of beach aside, the privacy was greatly appreciated.</p><p>“I always knew putting up with all that spooky bullshit was good for something,” said Martin as he staked the large umbrella into the ground. “This place is gorgeous.”</p><p>“Only the town nearby is aware of it, really. Back in ’92, the body of a young woman had washed up on the shore and the investigation that followed cracked open a domestic sex ring. The locals have avoided it ever since.”</p><p>“Charming.” Martin kicked off his flip-flops and yanked his shirt over his head. “That water sure is looking refreshing, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Nice try.” Jon set out his towel and dropped down cross-legged, opening to the first page of his book. “You will not manipulate me with your wiles this day.”</p><p>“You’re the worst.” Sliding off his glasses, Martin folded them up and handed them to Jon. “Give me a shout if you need me.”</p><p>Jon only had a moment to appreciate the view before Martin was off. Martin paused only to shriek about how cold the water was before forging ahead and diving headfirst into the gentle waves. He re-emerged a second later, pushing his wet hair out of his face, and waved. Jon waved back.</p><p>He watched as Martin swum laps up and down the shoreline before remembering that, yes, he had that book he’d been wanting to read. He looked down at the first page and got started. Just when he thought he was making meaningful progress, however, he realized he still was just watching Martin play in the water.</p><p>It <em>did</em> look refreshing.</p><p>And it didn’t help that poetry was still the worst, no matter how many second chances Jon gave it.</p><p>Sighing, he closed the book with a thump. In the ocean, Martin was floating on his back, eyes closed.</p><p>Completely unaware of his surroundings.</p><p>Hmm.</p><p>Toeing off his sandals, Jon pushed himself up and crept towards the water. His cover was almost blown when the water lapped at his feet and he nearly shouted. Damn, that <em>was </em>cold. Bracing himself, he pressed onward, sinking until the water was just past the tips of his ears, and continuing his stealthy approach.</p><p>Jon was nearly a foot away when Martin sighed and rolled over with a splash. Their eyes met.</p><p>Martin opened his mouth, but Jon sprung forward, grabbing his shoulders, and plunging them both under the water, cutting off Martin's startled yelp.</p><p>“You bastard!” Martin cried out when they both came back up, clinging to Jon’s rash guard.</p><p>“I thought you wanted me to come in the water.”</p><p>“Yes, I wanted you to come in the water, not give me a <em>heart attack</em>.”</p><p>“You are so dramatic.” Smirking, Jon leaned in for a kiss, but Martin’s grip had suddenly tightened, and he shoved Jon under the surface. Jon gasped, too late, and he swallowed a mouthful of seawater. When he resurfaced, he coughed, hard enough for his chest to ache and his nose to burn.</p><p>“Oh, damn, sorry,” Martin said, slapping his back. “Are you okay?”</p><p>“I’m fine.” Jon spat out a chunk of seaweed. “Probably deserved that.”</p><p>“Well. Only a little.” He grabbed Jon’s hand and tugged. “Come on, let’s race.”</p><p>Rolling his stinging eyes, Jon allowed himself to be pulled away.</p><p>They swam up and down the shoreline, until Jon barked at Martin to quit cheating. Martin asked how he could have possibly been cheating, to which Jon responded that his arms were longer. Martin suggested Jon try not being so short, which then resulted in their race looking more like a mad chase as Martin tried to avoid another drowning.</p><p>After that, Martin grabbed a squishy water ball from his bag, and they threw it at each other. Jon purposefully threw it just high enough so that Martin had to make wild leaps out of the water to try and catch it. This time, Martin accused Jon of cheating and chased him onto the beach and down the coastline.</p><p>Once they had run themselves to exhaustion, they sat down at the water’s edge, digging their toes in the squishy sand, and looked around for shells.</p><p>“Look at this,” Jon said, holding up a shell with red and white stripes curling around to the tip. He dropped it in Martin’s hand, who stroked it gently with his thumb.</p><p>“Wow, it’s so smooth.”</p><p>“That particular one is only a few days old. Razor clam, came from Cornwall. Was on its way to lunch when it was jumped by an octopus.”</p><p>“Rest in peace, clam,” said Martin, adding the shell to their small pile. “Your groovy fashion sense lives on.”</p><p>The sun had reached the middle of the sky when they both decided it was time for lunch.</p><p>“I’ve got your favourite,” Martin said in sing song, pulling a dewy bright pink glass bottle out of the cooler. On the label, it declared itself <em>Strawberry Kiss FunTime<b>™</b> Delights</em>.</p><p>“Martin, you know I can’t stand those sugary drinks.”</p><p>“What I <em>know</em> is you’re crock full of shite.”</p><p>Martin handed over the drink and a sandwich and and kissed him. They both had dried off ages ago, but Jon could still taste the salt water on Martin’s lips.</p><p>Sitting on his own towel, Martin unwrapped the foil on his sandwich and took a bite. Jon, who had been responsible for making the sandwiches, watched.</p><p>“How is it? Is it good?”</p><p>“It’s good.” Martin paused to sip his blueberry drink, his tongue turning a dull blue. “Although, I have to say, it’s hard to mess up peanut butter and jelly.”</p><p>“You’d be surprised.”</p><p>“Um, would I?”</p><p>“Of course. There’s so many different combinations to pick from. Peanut butter on both sides and jelly on one, or peanut butter on one side and jelly on the other, or maybe even both on both sides. That isn’t even getting into exact measurements and bread selection.”</p><p>“Wow.”</p><p>Jon huffed and bit into his own sandwich, chewing slowly. He thinks he’d gotten the jelly ratio correct, although the bread could stand to be a bit less dry.</p><p>Polishing off his sandwich, Martin stretched and collapsed onto his towel. “Well, I feel that we’ve earned a nap, don’t you?”</p><p>Much as Jon detested falling asleep in a place where at any moment a crab could emerge and pinch his toes, a comfortable, sluggish warmth was coursing through him, his eyelids growing heavy.</p><p>Finishing his drink, smacking his slightly pink lips (because <em>dammit</em> if it wasn’t delicious), he laid down. Martin curled up into his side, dropping his head on Jon’s shoulder. Jon shifted until he could rest a hand on Martin’s back, still sticky with seawater, rubbing in small circles with his knuckles.</p><p>“What d’you wanna do for dinner?” Martin murmured, voice low and lethargic. Jon dragged his eyes open, not remembering when he had closed them.</p><p>“Dunno,” he said, eyes sliding shut again. “Saw a diner on the way in. Looked nice. American or s’mthin.”</p><p>Martin mumbled something and Jon could only assume it was an agreement based on the tone. It was hard to tell at that point. He rolled his neck, placing a hand over Martin’s where it rested on his stomach and resting his head on Martin’s soft hair.</p><p>In the distance, the ocean’s waves rolled in and fell away. They both drifted off.</p>
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